An Oddly Introspective Morning

First, let me say that I am in no way talented in the art of writing poetry; I am about as wieldy with the english language as a garbage man with an English broadsword (translation: I no speak so good), but this morning necessitated a brush with the more creative side of writing. Thanks to the new system my Torrey mentor has instituted, I am forced to stay on schedule and hand in my pull questions every two weeks. I woke up with one to finish, and I figured I would bang it out in half an hour and head off to lunch. Then I looked at the question: "Following the pattern of Psalm 78, write a recollection of your own life to be passed on to the next generation". For those of you not familiar with this particular Psalm (there is no reason why you should be, although it is an interesting Psalm), it is for the most part a recollection of the unfaithfulness of Israel despite the demonstrated faithfuness and provision of the Lord. So there I sat, still shaking of the last vestiges of sleep, trying to take stock of my life so far. And not only my life, such as it is, but specifically my own weakness and unfaithfulness towards God.

Interestingly enough, it may have been just the thing I needed that morning. There is nothing like a reminder of your own shortcomings and bull-headedness to remind you of the grace and mercy of our most sovereign Lord. So, instead of writing another formulaic pull question, I decided to try my hand at Psalmistry (I really hope that is a word, or I shall be extremely embarassed). Ladies and Gentlemen, here is the fruit of my pathetic efforts:

"Give heed, friends, to my words
And I will speak of the steadfast love
Of the Father, and of the wayward actions
of a son; so that you may
Praise the Lord, your rock and salvation
with greater strength and understanding

He provided for his every need, from the
Beginning, and blessed him with life, family
And love.
But this son, proud even in his youth,
acknowledged his heavenly Father
in name only.
Instead of looking and seeing the hand of God
He saw only his own strength, frail and
feeble as it was, and did not give
Honor to the Lord for his steadfast love
and provision

And so the Lord’s anger was kindled against
His son, and He stretched out his hand
Striking his family with sickness and pain.
O how terrible the wrath of a
Jealous God! How perfect His judgement!
Still, even brought low by his pride, this son
Refused to let go, loving his freedom and
Trusting only in his own strength, rather than
The strength of He who parted the Red Sea,
He who struck down the armies of Pharaoh and
caused the mighty Nile to run red

Yet You, O Lord, in your unending and steadfast Love
Did not forsake your son and leave him
to wander in the wilderness for forever.
Just as You brought your chosen ones, the children
of Israel, into the promised land, You brought him back
To your side and directed each of his footsteps
in the way he should go.
Even when he walked in darkness, your hand was
There to guide and protect him
from those who wished him harm,
As a shepherd watches over even the least of his flock

You heard him, O Lord, when in the depths of his despair
he cried out to You, weeping in knowledge
Of his folly and his pride
and seeing the steadfast Love of the Lord, and
His guiding hand, even as he trudged
through the muck and mire of his iniquity
Who can know the extent of your wisdom, O Lord,
God of hosts,
Who can fathom your power? You who make
the mountains tremble with your voice,
You who make the seas boil and rage in your wrath?
Who can know the width and breadth of your Love?
Love enough to set aside your perfect judgement, and
Have mercy on those who cry out to you?
O friends, know that this is the Lord your God
And know that He is merciful
And just."
--Me


This dratted thing won't format it like I originally wanted, but regardless, I tried to be as honest with myself as I could. Perhaps we could all use a morning every once in a while to look back and see not only our own insufficiency, but the hand of the Father as well.

Someday

*DISCLAIMER: This next post consists of nothing but word vomit. Sadly, all vomit needs to be expelled sometime, so here goes . . .

"Man is a vast deep, whose hairs you, Lord, have numbered, and in you none can be lost. Yet it is easier to count his hairs than the passions and emotions of his heart"
-St. Augustine, Confessions

I'm trying not to make this sound like I'm complaining, but whenever anyone tries to scribble down their tangled thoughts on this subject it ends up sounding like it. So just to clarify: this is not a pity party. This is me laughing at myself. Sometimes I think there is a bright red stamp on my forehead that reads "I'm that nice guy that you will never think of seriously in a romantic way." People always say that someday, someone will come along who can look me in the eye and truthfully say they aren't settling for me, and then we can ride off into the sunset with James Taylor playing in the backgrond. The problem is that it's all a bunch of talk. Thus far, nothing in my experience in that area of life has even hinted at the possiblity of that happening. The human heart is a very very very interesting thing. I know that I don't need a girl in my life to make me happy, I do. I know that the only place for me to find the true rest that my soul is longing for is within the Lord God almighty who makes all things new according to his good pleasure. But while I am content and satisfied in that truth, some nights I just feel unspeakably lonely. I don't know what its like to be wanted, to be needed by another person. It sounds kind of selfish, but it is something that is common to all of us because we all are human. This feeling will probably by gone by the time I wake up for class, but let the records show that I, Philip Glenn, being of sound mind and character, would like that someday to come a bit sooner.

Vomiting terminated, and now back to our regularly scheduled programming . . .

Cheer up, kiddo

No matter how hard I try to get it done early, it is unavoidable that I will be doing my laundry at 2 in the morning. Methinks I must have offended the laundry goddess by wearing my jeans for longer than a week, but tonight she was extra surly, causing one of my dryer loads to be dripping wet at the end of the cycle. So, as long as I have another hour to kill . . .

Going to concerts has always been one of my favorite things to do, but due to my strange propensity for weird music I always am at the shows that not many people show up at. Every now and again I'll find someone else who wants to go see a Ska show or Bela Fleck and the Flectones, but those people are very few and far between. That is why going to the Mae concert was very interesting for me. Especially coming from a rudie background (that's what you call a kid who listens to ska FYI) I'm used to the strange and comforting cameraderie shared by most people at concerts. You're here to dance and have good time, and so am I, so lets get to it! But tonight was interesting; I've never been in a gym full of people more determined not to have a good time. For the first two bands there was barely a foot tapping, head nodding, or even a sign that these people were even listening to music. Just blank stares, and every once in a while a disgusted look at another concert-goer. I guess it's to be expected in a scene where your greatest aim is to care less than the person next to each other; put a thousand or so of them into a gym and the result is one very depressing sight.

Cheer up kids! Maybe if you look up every once in a while, you'll see that everyone else has to deal with the same crap that you have to.

Misdirected Ramblings from the afflicted

"You're a blowout on a birthday cake
and I'm a birthday candle"
-Ryan Adams

There's nothing like melancholy folk music to accentuate the unfortunate situation you find yourself in. Suffice it to say, I am sick, which is weird in itself. Because I don't get sick. I just don't. I honestly can't remember the last time I got sick; must've been junior year or something. And of course, I am stricken with this the week that Biola is performing an opera. There's nothing like a fit of coughing from the orchestra pit to ruin the drama of the magic flute. . .

"Where is Tamino?"
"He is here, to bid you a last Farewell."
"A la-"
(COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH)
"A last Far-"
(COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH)

I think I'm doing a little better, thanks to the wonder that is Tylenol cold and sinus, but something is still bothering me. Maybe not one something, but a couple of somethings and I can't quite put my finger on it.

This whole thing could be another friendly reminder from the Big Guy upstairs that I'm not in charge of this life I'm trying to live, which to me is the scariest part about being sick. I can take all the medicine I want, but on some days nothing I do keeps me from coughing my lungs up. But it also reminds me that, in reality, I'm not in control of much anyway. I'm sure glad God knows what he's doing, because I sure as heck don't.

There's always that weird feeling that comes out of nowhere when you see a good friend finally happy with someone. You want to be happy for them, and you are, but for the most part it is a constant reminder that you have yet to find someone.

Music is one of the most powerful forces that moves the hearts and minds of men, right? Why, then, were many of those that created some of the most beautiful stuff so messed up? Why was Mozart, for lack of a better term, a pompous ass? Why was Lizst an egomaniac?
And, to change the focus for a bit, why did Chopin die of TB alone and miserable? Why did Beethoven, who singlehandedly brought music from classical to romantic, go deaf? Why did Nick Drake overdose on deppression medication before he was recongized for any of his work?

Why did Oedipus deserve anything that happened to him? Why do birds fly in V's and how the heck to they know to do it? Why do minor keys evoke sadness? Why do some people see animals in the clouds where some just see cumulus, nimbus, etc? Why do sunsets make us feel amazing and strangely sad at the same time?

This doesn't make much sense, I'm noticing, but no one said it would. So there.